


Trust Exercises

by aces_mild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Including But Not Limited To - Freeform, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Past Abuse, Reader Is Not Frisk, Revenge, Sans is also soft but only for Reader, Self-Insert, Some dark themes, Soul Bond (End Game), Suicide, idiots to lovers, if you're looking for smut look elsewhere, more tags to be added later, plus some basic grammatical improvements, reader is soft, this is a re-post of a previous work titled "An Exercise Of Trust", with changes made to Reader's personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_mild/pseuds/aces_mild
Summary: The Underground is a dangerous place. It’s obvious that you don't belong here, but it's not like you can go back. At least you're relatively safe, thanks to a certain skeleton you happened to meet once you escaped the Ruins. It seems like he and his brother have plans for you...Low on plot, high on fluff and humor. Rated M for violence and things getting saucy in some chapters. No smut, though.
Relationships: Alphys (Underfell)/Undyne (Underfell), Papyrus (Underfell)/Mettaton (Underfell)/Their Adoring Fans, Sans (Underfell)/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 167





	1. Who Needs Therapy When You Can Just Cut Your Hair?

You haven’t budged from in front of your mirror in at least half an hour. You refuse to let yourself move until you do it, but you can’t force yourself to use the scissors gripped tightly in your hand. Whenever you try, your palms get all sweaty, your fingers twitch, and your arms start to shake. You end up pulling away each time, left staring into your own disappointed eyes, unable to cut even a single strand of your tangled, waist-length hair.

It’s no surprise, considering what the punishment had been the last time you’d cut your hair instead of letting your mother do it for you. No visible scars, but the memory is clear as day when you close your eyes. Your mother’s words are a crystal clear and ice cold echo in your ears.

_ “Look at the mess you’ve made. You look  _ **_ridiculous_ ** _.”  _

_ “Those people are laughing at you, silly girl. They can tell you tried to do it on your own.” _

_ “Stupid, foolish child...you should know by now not to try to do these things by yourself. You  _ **_always_ ** _ mess up.” _

_ “Come, now, let me fix it for you…” _

You’re still standing there when Sans lets himself in. He’d been visiting more and more since you got back from Alphys’s Lab. 

“Do you know anyone who would cut my hair for a decent price?” you ask him, not turning around.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “ain’t no way i’m lettin’ anyone near ya with a pair’a scissors.”

You roll your eyes at his possessive tone, but honestly, you’re not too keen on the idea, either. Having something so sharp close to your neck...it’s too good an opportunity for most monsters to pass up.

Emphasis on ‘most.’ You can count the monsters who wouldn’t straight up murder you on one hand. Luckily, one of them is making his way across the kitchen toward you.

“Then you do it.” 

“what?” he takes a few steps closer, appearing behind you in the mirror.

You reach your hand over your shoulder and hold the scissors out to him. “Cut my hair.” He gives you a look caught somewhere between confusion and annoyance. “Please?”

He takes them, hesitantly. You free your hair from the loose ponytail it’s tied in. You were just going to lop the whole thing off, but this is better. You fan it out between your shoulder bladder and show him how short you want it. “About chin length.”

He just stands there for a minute, holding the scissors by the blades. “imma be real with ya...i don’t know shit about hair. kinda hard to, when ya don’t have any, y’know? ya let me do this, and...imma fuck yer hair up real bad, sweetheart. you’d be better off askin’ paps.”

No, that’ wouldn’t do. Papyrus has a soft spot for you, so he’s just as unlikely to kill you as Sans, but...well, there was no guarantee he’d do as you asked. You might end up with something closer to his sense of style, and just the thought of that makes your face scrunch up. “I don’t care if it looks bad. I don’t want anything fancy, I just want it gone.”

Sans reaches out and takes some of your hair in his free hand, only to let it fall, running through his bony fingers.

“What’s the holdup?” you ask.

“...it’s just...i dunno...doesn’t it take a while to grow out like this?”

“Yeah, so?”

“seems like a waste to just...get rid of it…”

“I just...don’t wanna deal with it anymore, ok?” You fold your arms, holding them by the elbows. “If it means that much to you, feel free to keep it,” you suggest sarcastically.

He glares at you in the mirror. “i ain’t gonna keep it. that’d be creepy as shit. but if yer sure-”

“I am.” You immediately regret getting snippy with him [ha], but you honestly weren’t expecting him to put up this much resistance...or any, resistance, really. It’s just hair, why does he give a shit what you do with it?

Finally, he relents, switching the scissors to his left hand. “aright, fine, whatever.” He takes a step closer, to where he’s nearly breathing down your neck. His knuckles brush against your jaw as he collects the strands that frame your face.

You close your eyes. You hear him make the first cut, and instinctively flinch, wrapping your arms tighter around your middle.

“Fuckin’...hold still, will ya?” Sans grumbles. He’s annoyed, but his words are spoken softly. 

In a few minutes, your head feels lighter than it has in years, all that extra weight no longer pulling on your neck. You can’t remember a time when your hair was this short...every time you’d suggested something like this, your mother shot you down. 

_ Nonsense. Your long hair makes you look so pretty...you want to be pretty, don’t you?  _

You did. Of course you did. But now, there were more important things than being attractive. Surviving, for example.

You reach up to run your hands through it, but Sans stops you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“m’not done yet.”

“Looks fine to me,” you say petulantly.

He gently forces your hand back to your side, away from your hair. “s’all uneven. gimme a few more minutes.”

You’re shocked, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Wow...you’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

“shuddup and hold still.”

You do as he asks, marveling at how invested in it he is. He cuts off small tufts here and there. With the hair gone, his fingers keep brushing the back of your neck. It’s not an unwelcome sensation, by any means. Certainly not when compared to being manhandled by Undyne. Er...womanhandled? Fish-handled…?

“there. s’bout as good as it’s gonna get.” He sets the scissors down on the kitchen table instead of handing them back. 

You turn your head, pretty impressed by his work. It wasn’t professional, but it was definitely better than anything you could’ve done on your own.

“Not bad, bones. You might have a future as a hair stylist,” you joke, leaving your reflection to pull a broom and dustpan out of the closet.

“why ya suddenly decide to cut it?” he asks, wasting no time getting comfortable on the couch.

“Oh, no reason, really. I’d just prefer not to be dragged around by my hair again anytime soon. That’s all.”

He stiffens, and turns slowly to face you, leaning one arm along the back of the sofa. “...undyne or alphys?”

“Both,” you answer coldly. It’s not like they were the only culprits. This was far from the first time someone had used your long hair against you like that, it had just been the last straw. 

You glance up from your task and make brief eye contact with Sans. Why does he look so...guilty? “Is everything okay?”

As soon as you ask, the expression is gone. “whaddaya mean?”

“You were making a face…”

“what face?” Ah, there’s that familiar frown of his.

You shake your head. “Forget it.” You put the broom and dustpan back into the closet, grab two sodas from the fridge, and join Sans on the couch. “What did you bring this time?”

He digs a disc out of his jacket pocket. “mortal kombat.” 

You can’t help but grin. Gratuitous violence and gore is exactly what you need right now. While not your usual choice, recent events have left you with more than your fair share of pent-up anger and frustration.

“ya sure are smilin’ a lot for someone who’s about to get yer ass kicked.”

“Bring it on, bones.” 

\--

Sans walks in, and you’re just...standing in front of the mirror? You don’t turn around. Your back is to him...do you even know he’s here? He never knocks - halfway hoping to catch you doing something saucy - but maybe he should start. You just got back from being kidnapped, for fuck’s sake! What was he thinking? Barging in on you while your back is turned is a recipe for disaster. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out [at least, not by accident. Freaking you out on purpose is still fair game]. 

Aw, fuck, he’s just standing by the door like an idiot. Should he say something, or-

“Do you know anyone who would cut my hair for a decent price?” You ask him, not turning around.

Oh, so you had noticed him. There’s no way you could see him in that mirror...which meant you’d just assumed it was him. You sure do like to play dangerous games. Still, you should know by now that there’s no such thing as a ‘decent price’ down here. Letting anyone that close with a sharp object - any sharp object - is just asking to get dusted. Or, in your case, gutted. 

This week has been bad enough for you already, there’s no way he’s letting any more horrible shit happen.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “ain’t no way i’m lettin’ anyone near ya with a pair’a scissors.”

Shit, that’s not what he meant to say. Well, it is, but he didn’t mean to say it like that! You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re sick of being treated like a possession. He figures it’s due to whatever life you lived before falling, but he’s not about to ask - it’s none of his damn business. 

He heads over to the fridge to grab a soda, but your words catch him off guard.

“Then you do it.”

Him? You want him to cut your hair? There’s no way he heard that right. He moves so that you can see him in the mirror. “what?” 

You reach your hand over your shoulder and hold the scissors out to him. “Cut my hair.”

You can’t be serious. What makes you think he’s trustworthy? He’s just as capable of snapping your neck or cutting your throat as any other monster. 

He, uh, definitely wouldn’t, though. Wouldn’t even consider it. You’re the only living thing in the Underground besides Papyrus that doesn’t want to kill him. Hell, you’d made it clear that you don’t even want to  _ hurt  _ him, and even his brother occasionally wanted to wring his bony neck. But that doesn’t mean you should just hand him a potential weapon like this. 

“Please?”

Shit. You’re serious. You trust him? He still thinks you’re an idiot, but there’s also this other feeling. It’s kind of like pride, he thinks, but warmer. A lot warmer. When did it get so hot in here? He’s sweating more than usual.

He takes the scissors from you, half expecting you to change your mind. Changing your mind would be smart. Why aren’t you changing your mind?

You free your hair from the loose ponytail it’s tied in and fan it out over your back. You grab a section of it and pinch it between your fingers. “About chin length.”

That’s it? That’s all the direction you’re gonna give him? There’s no way this is gonna go well. Not unless you talk him through it step by step. If you don’t, he’s gonna fuck up, ruin your hair, and then you’ll hate him.

Probably not, but the fear is still there. He has to at least warn you.

“imma be real with ya...i don’t know shit about hair. kinda hard to, when ya don’t have any, y’know?” Nothing. No response. Not even a hint of a smile. “ya let me do this, and...imma fuck yer hair up real bad, sweetheart. you’d be better off askin’ paps.” Yes! There we go. That’s a good idea.

Papyrus is great with this kind of thing. He’s got a real eye for detail, and what looks good with what, and a bunch of other things that Sans sucks ass at. 

Apparently, you don’t agree. Your face scrunches up, and you insist, “I don’t care if it looks bad. I don’t want anything fancy, I just want it gone.”

Nothing fancy, huh? Well, that’s good. Sans is pretty sure he couldn’t pull off ‘fancy’ to save his life. He reaches out and takes some of your hair in his free hand, but he’s not ready to cut it yet. He realizes that he’s never actually touched your hair before, though he’s come pretty close a few times. Despite the tangles, it’s exactly as soft as he expected it to be…

Not that he’s thought about it enough to form expectations.

He kinda wants to run his fingers through it, just once, while it’s still long-

“What’s the holdup?” you ask, interrupting his train of thought.

He flounders a bit, not sure what to say. “...it’s just…” so pretty, and… “i dunno…” ...he hasn’t really had the chance to fully appreciate it yet, and… “...doesn’t it take a while to grow out like this?”

“Yeah, so?”

There’s so much of it. What exactly are you gonna do with it, anyway? Throw it out? Maybe he could ask to keep some…? 

No, he can’t because that’s creepy and weird. He needs to not be creepy and weird.

“seems like a waste to just...get rid of it…”

“I just...don’t wanna deal with it anymore, ok? If it means that much to you, feel free to keep it.”

You can’t read his mind, can you? Because that was fucking spooky. He’s a bit wigged out by it, and glares at you in the mirror. “i ain’t gonna keep it,” even if he wants to. “that’d be creepy as shit. but if you’re sure-”

“I am.”

That’s it then. You’re really putting your foot down now. He can hear it in your voice. 

He switches the scissors to his left hand. “aright, fine, whatever.” 

He takes a step closer to you, and tries really hard not to breathe down your neck. He reaches for the strands that frames your face, and accidentally brushes your jaw with his knuckles. 

Shit. He didn’t mean to do that. You didn’t flinch or anything, which is a good sign, but he looks at your face in the mirror for reassurance anyway. When he sees that your eyes are closed, he considers the possibility that you may, in fact, be even dumber than he thought you were. 

_ Why would you close your eyes? _ He could do literally anything to you right now, and you’d be completely unprepared to fight back.

But he doesn’t do ‘literally anything.’ Though reluctant, he cuts off the first bit.

You jump, and Sans’s SOUL practically goes flying out of his body. 

“fuckin’...” He watches you tighten your arms around your middle, eyes squeezed shut now. For a second, he’s worried he cut you somehow, but that’s impossible. He’s being too careful to make that kind of mistake. It must’ve been the sound. “hold still, will ya?” he says, as softly as he can. 

He knows it’s not your fault. He recognizes the signs of abuse when he sees it, and it’s written all over you despite your efforts to hide it. Your constant second-guessing and complete lack of confidence, the way you avoid physical contact [even when you probably want it], and your dependency on others…

He thinks back to when he first met you. You hadn’t been suspicious of him following you, or given a second thought to shaking his hand. You’d immediately latched onto him, asking for directions, advice, help…Had it been any other monster, you’d be dead where you stand.

But it had been Sans. 

Sure, killing humans was pretty much his only job, but he was notoriously lazy, and you were real fun to mess with. You’d believe anything he told you, trusting blindly in the only monster you’d encountered that hadn’t immediately tried to murder you. It’d been forever since he’d had such a good outlet for his practical jokes, and you took it like a champ. As soon as you’d made him laugh, simply by attempting [and failing] to prank him back, it was too late. 

You were someone he  _ had _ to keep around, no matter what.

He tries to cut your hair as even as he can, but he just doesn’t have a good eye for this shit. By the time he’s lopped most of it off, it’s a jagged mess. 

Papyrus would be livid when he saw what a piss-poor job Sans had done. 

_ “SHE ASKED YOU TO DO SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS CUTTING HER HAIR AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN DO THAT RIGHT? PATHETIC.” _

He sees you reaching for your hair, and grabs your wrist without thinking. He immediately realizes you’re probably not cool with it, but...he’s gotta fix it before you notice what a mess it is. Before you can say anything, he mumbles, “m’not done yet.”

“Looks fine to me.” Thankfully, you don’t put up much resistance, but he does catch you pout in the mirror as you complain.

As gently as he can, he brings your arm back down to rest at your side. “s’all uneven. gimme a few more minutes.”

“Wow...you’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you?” Ah, geez, you’re giving him that look again. That  _ smile _ . 

His face heats up. “shuddup and hold still.”

He goes back and cuts off all the clumps of hair that are sticking out. It’s never gonna be perfect, but it’ll be good enough. He hopes.

The whole time, his fingers keep brushing the back of your neck. He doesn’t mean to keep touching you there. He feels like he probably shouldn’t, what with how many times in the last week you’ve been choked, strangled, or otherwise grabbed by your neck. The bruises from whatever it was that had gone down at Alphys’s lab are still fading. 

But you kind of lean into it, and he wishes you’d stop doing that because not only does it make it harder for him to get your hair right, but it’s also making him sweat again. 

Finally, it looks ok. He steps away from you and puts the scissors on your kitchen table. 

“there. s’bout as good as it’s gonna get.” 

You lean closer to the mirror to get a better look, and he takes the opportunity to get as far away from you as he can without making it obvious. Which, in this case, means moving himself to the couch. He just...needs a second to cool down.

“Not bad, bones. You might have a future as a hair stylist.”

Sans is too busy thinking to respond right away. Thinking about how you actually thought he did a good job. Thinking about how to get some of your hair out of the trash without you seeing. Thinking about how absolutely sure you were that he wasn’t going to kill you.

Thinking about how you’d just called him ‘bones.’

Kinda different from ‘asshole’ or ‘pervert.’ Not very creative, but it still left him with that weird warm feeling again. 

There is one thing on his mind that he simply has to ask you about. 

“why ya suddenly decide to cut it?”

“Oh, no reason, really. I’d just prefer not to be dragged around by my hair again anytime soon. That’s all.” You say it so casually, but it hits him like a bus anyway.

He turns slowly to face you, leaning one arm along the back of the sofa. “...undyne or alphys?” It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he can do anything about it. They’re both more than capable of ending his sorry existence. Even just threatening them would land him in deep shit.

“Both.” 

Of course. He could just see it. Undyne, lifting you clear off your feet, your hair wrapped around her hand. Alphys, claws tangled in it, pulling you through the halls of her decrepit lab. 

Your poor fucking neck! He was kind of impressed the thing hadn’t snapped. No wonder you wanted to cut your hair. He wouldn’t blame you if you’d wanted to shave it all off.

“Is everything okay?”

No, not really. He’s getting kinda worked up. “whaddaya mean?”

“You were making a face…”

“what face?” He frowns, hoping desperately that his concern hadn’t been too obvious.

You shake your head. “Forget it.”

He turns on the crappy TV while you shuffle around a bit. It’s still on the console menu you’d left it on yesterday. Did you even watch TV? Not that there was ever anything good on, but if you didn’t, what did you do for fun?

You hand him a soda when you sit down across from him on the couch. “What did you bring this time?”

In his opinion, not really. But he’s pretty sure you’ll get a kick out of it. He fishes the disc out of his pocket. “mortal kombat.” 

You’re doing a damn good job of hiding your anger, but Sans can tell you’re pissed about what happened to you. 

He knows he is.

You grin. It’s not a sharp one, like when you’re putting on that tough act you think is so convincing. It’s softer, and it does something to your eyes he can’t quite put his finger on. 

“ya sure are smilin’ a lot for someone who’s about to get yer ass kicked.”

“Bring it on, bones.”

There’s that feeling again. Guess he’ll just have to get used to it.


	2. How To Steal Sans's Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really aren't dressed for the weather down here...

You’re halfway to Sans’s sentry station before you realize you forgot to put on your jacket. You’d been too distracted to notice the cold up until this point, but now that you’re back in the moment, you’re starting to feel how little your outfit is doing to shield you from the weather. Just like nearly everything else in the Underground, the chill is quick to sink its teeth into you.

But you’re too embarrassed to backtrack. It’s bad enough that you’d drawn the attention of every monster you’d passed, but if you turned around now, they’d know you’d forgotten something. Just the thought of them knowing you’d made such a stupid mistake makes your face heat up in shame. 

It doesn’t help that what you’re wearing isn’t really good for cold weather. Usually you’d just stick with jeans and a t-shirt, but Papyrus had happened upon a maroon halter top in Waterfall’s junkyard and had  _ graciously _ given it to you instead of leaving it there to rot [or attempting to wear it himself]. 

You’d put off wearing it for as long as you could, but you’d woken up this morning and realized that you were completely out of clean t-shirts. 

You’re showing off way more skin than you’re used to. It’s making you super self-conscious and very, very chilly. 

A low whistle rings out across the clearing, and you’re momentarily mortified before you realize that it’s just Sans, checking you out from his sentry station.

“well,  _ hello, _ sweetheart. lookin’ good.” 

You giggle, and cross the clearing so you can hop up to sit on the counter. You’re suddenly not so cold anymore.

“what brings a cute little thing like you all the way out to my post?”

“I just thought you might like some company, bones,” you tell him. He’s always complaining about how boring it is way out here, so far from Snowdin Town. “It’s not like I had anything better to do, anyway.”

\--

When he first sees you, Sans is one-hundred percent sure he’s asleep. He’s had this dream before, and has a good idea of where it’s going. He’s not expecting you to respond - your dream counterpart rarely does - but once you drop that nickname, he knows he’s awake. 

You hop up onto the counter with ease, and he can’t keep himself from eyeing the bare skin of your midriff. He’s tempted to run a claw up your spine, but manages to restrain himself.

He invited you behind the counter, where there’s an extra stool for you to sit on. It has to be better than the unsanded wood of the counter, and as an added perk, it’s close enough that he can smell your perfume. 

Fuck, he really wishes you hand’t wandered over during his usual nap-time. He wants to keep talking to you, really, he does. You’re the best - and only - company he’s had all day. But his eye sockets are getting heavy. He can probably keep the conversation going. He’ll just rest his head for a second…

\--

Unsurprisingly, Sans passes out after a while, leaning forward on the counter with his head resting on his arms. You take to scrolling through the phone Alphys gave you [for the sole purpose of being able to call you to her lab whenever she needs to run a test on you]. Your fingers are so cold, you can barely keep from dropping it.

You’re not gonna last much longer out here, but you dread the thought of returning to your too-quiet house. You suck it up and try as hard as you can to keep your shivering under control.

You sneeze.

\--

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he fell asleep. He jolts awake when you sneeze, but is too lazy to lift his head. Eye-sockets closed, he becomes hyper-aware of your movement.

He had no idea humans could rattle. Or...are you rattling? You’re shaking, in any case. He can hear your teeth chattering, and the rest of you seems to vibrate every few seconds.

Oh, wait, you’re cold. Duh. Of course you are, dressed like that. He’s not complaining - not by any means, because you look  _ damn _ good - but aren’t humans sensitive to the cold? He’s pretty sure it can kill them if they’re not careful. 

He’s tempted to tell you to scram, to head back home, but he gets the feeling you don’t wanna be there right now.

\--

Your shivering is officially out of control. You’re desperate. Desperate enough to consider getting just a little bit closer to Sans, despite the fact that he smells like sweat and mustard. He might not have body heat, but if you just press up against him, at least you won’t be as exposed to the air. 

You just gotta be casual about it. Gotta play it cool [ha].

You swivel the stool and brace your feet against the wall, leaning your back against Sans. He’s close enough that you don’t feel like you’re gonna fall over, and you sink into the surprisingly plush fabric of his coat. You immediately feel better. You’re still cold, but you’ll take what you can get.

\--

Sans struggles to remain stationary as he opens a socket and trains a single red eye-light on you. 

The fuck are you doing? You got yourself all bent outta shape...that sitting position can’t be comfortable. It looks awful for your back. 

He knows he should say something, but you’ve never been this close to him before. You usually shy away from any and all contact, so this is...this is new. 

The only thing between your spine and his ribcage is his coat and the thin t-shirt underneath. He really doesn’t want you to move away...but maybe there’s a way to get you even closer.

“y’know, dollface, this coat’s big enough for two…” he says without moving. He’s supporting most of your weight, at this point, and he doesn’t want you to fall.

“Oh?” you squeak out. If your face wasn’t already red from the cold, you’d be blushing.

“sure. so if ya wanna avoid turnin’ into a human icicle, i suggest ya move over here an’ get cozy with me.” Please, just say yes, sweetheart. Your lips are turning the same shade of blue as your eyes.

Not that he’s looking at your lips.

“How would that work? There’s barely enough room for you on that stool,” you point out through chattering teeth.

“whattaya talkin’ about?” Sans grins, and pats one of his femurs. “it ain’t the most comfortable seat in the house, but there’s plenty’a room for ya.” 

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you narrow your eyes at him. He just raises his browbones suggestively, grin widening. “No way, perv.”

Ouch, that stings. He’d gone and gotten used to ‘bones’ and here you are, spitting that at him again. He’s just trying to keep you from freezing to death. He’d definitely enjoy having your tiny, soft, warm body in his lap, but that was just a bonus. “how ‘bout if i promise to keep m’hands to m’self?”

“Nope.” You shift in your seat so you’re not leaning on him anymore. You’re not even looking at him anymore. Your eyes are glued to your phone again. 

Why are you like this? 

Sans lets out a sigh, deciding that there’s no other option.

\--

You turn your attention back to your phone, though you’re too cold to focus on it. You can barely hear Sans shuffling around beside you over the sound of your body shaking, so you’re not prepared when the heavy weight of his coat lands on your shoulders. You freeze, caught entirely by surprise, before slowly turning to look at him.

He’s leaning forward, chin resting on his hand, staring out into the dead forest around the station. He looks disappointed, almost sullen. Is he...pouting?

It’s almost cute.

“Thanks, Sans…” you whisper. Either he doesn’t hear you, or he elects to ignore you. 

You put your arms through the sleeves, zip it up as far as it goes, and flip the hood up to cover your ears. His jacket’s absolutely huge on you, big enough that your legs can fit comfortably inside once they’re pulled up to your chest, and the hem of it hangs down below the stool seat. 

It’s not warm at first, but it heats up pretty quick. Finally, your muscles can relax. You hide the lower part of your face in the fur around the collar. 

You’re not gonna lie - it doesn’t smell great...but it doesn’t smell awful, either. Underneath the bitter smell of mustard (which you’ve just about gotten used to, since you spend so much time around the condiment-guzzling skeleton) is a hint of something smoky, almost spicy. You can’t quite place it.

\--

Damn, you just up and disappeared into that thing. Can’t even see your face anymore, it’s obscured by the fur lining. You’re so small compared to him. So, so small.

It’s...kinda of a turn-on, and really fucking cute. He can’t help but chuckle a bit. “where’d ya go, babygirl? it’s like m’coat ate ya, or somethin’.”

You mumble something, but he can’t hear you from in there. He leans a bit closer.

“huh?”

You repeat yourself, but he still can’t hear you. He gets even closer.

“one more time?”

Your words come out as a harsh whisper spoken through a grin: “My coat now, motherfucker.”

The laugh bubbles up from Sans’s rib cage before he can stop it. It’s not even that funny, just unexpected. Whatever he thought you were gonna say, that wasn’t it. 

Normally, any idiot dumn enough to try and take his stuff would wind up a pile of dust. But you? Hell, he might just let you keep the damn thing.


	3. You Can Take A Punch (But You Shouldn't Have To)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans actually isn't half bad at this whole 'taking-care-of-you' thing.

The first time Papyrus refers to you as ‘his human,’ Sans gets this cold sensation in his SOUL. It’s not jealousy - at least, that’s what he tells himself. It can’t be. He’s never thought of you like that. In fact, even hearing Papyrus voice it disgusts him, mostly because he knows how much it’ll upset you. 

But, technically speaking, Papyrus isn’t wrong. Once King Asgore realized you weren’t fit to be hunted, he’d given Papyrus permission to do with you as he pleased, so long as your SOUL was delivered to him in the end. 

Asgore had offered you to Undyne first, but she seemed preoccupied as of late, and couldn’t think of anything to do with you.

Papyrus, though...Papyrus had plans for you. 

It’s well known that it takes one human SOUL and one monster SOUL to pass through the barrier. The SOUL of a deceased human works for this, but only once. After that, it evaporates, or loses all its Determination and becomes inert.

However, humans have the ability to replenish their own Determination. So long as the human is kept alive, their SOUL could be used to pass through the barrier again and again. 

It would be ideal for venturing out onto the surface and searching for strong, healthy humans to participate in the King’s hunt. Papyrus knows that if he pulls this off, he’ll win the favor of the King, and might even be promoted to Captain of the Royal Guard in Undyne’s place. 

It’s the perfect plan. Flawless, really.

Except for one thing.

The SOUL of a living human cannot be absorbed into the SOUL of a monster. Unless the two SOULs can share their power somehow, moving through the barrier is impossible. 

Alphys suspects that it is possible for a human and a monster to form a SOUL bond, but such a thing has never been done. It’s just a theory, the consequences of which are unknown. 

Sans tried to explain to Papyrus that a SOUL bond is permanent. It’s not something you can just undo if it doesn't work out. Once it’s done, you’re stuck with that person until you’re nothing but dust. 

But his younger brother doesn’t seem at all phased. His plan is well worth that risk, in his mind. 

Besides, there’s no one truly worthy of sharing the SOUL of the Great and Terrible Papyrus, anyway. He’s certain that there will never be anyone that meets his standards, so he might as well make use of the one-time bond in a way that benefits his career and forwards his master plan.

\--

For a few weeks, Sans is unable to spend as much time with you. You’re rarely at home in the middle of the day anymore, with Papyrus dragging you with him to Alphys’s lab so she can run tests on your SOUL and figure out if this plan is possible. 

While he doesn’t love that you’re spending so much time with his brother (and not with him), he does enjoy having some extra time to himself. With Papyrus so preoccupied with you, there’s no one around to make sure Sans is doing his job.

So he doesn’t.

He starts spending a few hours during his shift just hanging out at him. Napping on the couch is way more comfortable than doing so at his station. He makes sure to leave before Papyrus gets back, of course.

But one day, Papyrus storms in around mid-afternoon, waking Sans up when he slams the door behind him. 

He’s pissed, and Sans fully expects to get an earful, but it turns out that he’s not angry with his older brother for shirking work.

He’s angry with himself. Absolutely livid, in fact.

Apparently, he had become tired of waiting for you to submit to the bond, and had lost his temper. It wasn’t unusual, and Sans had been on the receiving end of his rages more times than he could count. 

This is different, though. It’s worse, because it’s you that got hurt. 

Papyrus isn’t necessarily concerned over your physical wellbeing - your injuries are minor, after all - but he’s frustrated because he knows that this will delay his plans. He’ll have to earn your trust all over again, and that will take patience - patience that Papyrus simply doesn’t have. 

Sans doesn't bother to say where he’s going before he teleports to your safehouse. He stands at your doorstep for a few moments, staring at a few stray drops of your bright red blood on the snow underfoot. 

He wants to believe that you’re fine. That you can deal with this yourself. That you’ll get over it...but he also knows what his brother is capable of. 

Maybe he should just return to his station. Seeing the damage will just make him angry, and then he’ll get frustrated because there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. What’s even the point?

Making sure you’re okay. That’s the point. Even if there isn’t anything he can do.

You’re leaning over the kitchen table and fiddling with a long strip of fabric when Sans walks in. 

“hey, sweetheart. i heard what happened with the boss…”

You turn to look at him over your left shoulder, clearly surprised to see him. He gets it. He hasn’t stopped by at all in over a week, and he hasn’t really been texting you, either.

“Hey, Sans. It’s...nice to see you,” you say, your voice sounding strained. “I missed you…”

Fuck.

Sans was so busy trying to make the whole situation easier on himself, he hadn’t really considered that you might actually enjoy his company. 

He should say something. He should apologize, but he can’t find the words. A life lived in the Underground erased them from his vocabulary.

He notices that you’re trying to wrap the fabric around your arm, but you’re clearly having trouble. It keeps sliding off.

He walks up behind you. “lemme help ya.” If he can’t keep this shit from happening to you, the least he can do is try to make it better.

You hesitate to turn around, so Sans reaches around and grabs the bandage off the counter before putting a hand on your shoulder and gently turning you to face him. 

He notices your bruised cheek right away. It’s only just started to turn purple, and the discoloration is kept company by two small scratches under your right eye.

What’s infinitely worse is that you’ve obviously been crying, your eyes watery and red. Probably not because of the pain - you might be soft on the inside, but you’ve got a high pain tolerance. 

This was...new. New and deeply unsettling. Just what had Papyrus done to you?

What had he  _ said _ ?

He checks his expression, making sure to keep it neutral as he carefully takes your injured arm into his hand. The sleeve of your shirt is rolled up to the elbow, revealing four long claw marks on the back of your forearm, and once slicing across your wrist. They’re red, raised, and angry-looking. He brushes his thumb over the cut at your pulse, sees you wince, and hears your breath catch. 

Fuck. Shit. Okay, don’t touch those, then. 

“They look worse than they are,” you say half-heartedly.

He knows you’re lying. Why are you like this? He knows it’s a survival tactic - he’s a pro at it himself - but you don’t need to do that here. Not when it’s just the two of you.

He starts wrapping the long strip of fabric around your arm, moving his own clawed fingers carefully to avoid touching the cuts. He’s not sure how tight it should be, and keeps looking up at your face to make sure he isn’t doing it wrong. 

You won’t make eye contact with him.

When he’s done, you fasten it with a clip to keep it from falling off again.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“don’t mention it,” he responds, just as softly. He releases your arm and takes a few steps back. He hadn’t realized just how close to you he’d been. In a darker tone, he adds, “seriously, don’t mention it. i’ll get all kinds’a shit for it.”

You giggle and roll your eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you have an excellent bedside manner.”

He narrows his eye sockets at you. “better not. i got a reputation to keep up.'' Who was he kidding? His reputation was already in tatters. Two months ago, being teased like this would’ve been a huge blow to his ego. But coming from you, it made him feel warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for putting up with me re-posting all of this! I hope you're still getting some enjoyment out of these old ideas. <3


	4. Your Soul Is Fine, It's Your Body That's Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being experimented on sucks.

You’re at Alphys’s lab for your daily ‘observation.’ She has you in a test room that she built specifically to separate you from your SOUL, so she doesn’t have to constantly be wasting her own magic to do it. 

It’s been going on for weeks now, ever since she kidnapped you that one time. It’s a routine. Papyrus picks you up in the morning, drops you off at the lab before heading to the Capital, Alphys runs a variety of tests on you all day, and then Papyrus returns to take part in a few tests along with you before taking you back home. 

You hope the experiments end soon, as you don’t think you’ll ever be used to being without your SOUL. It makes you feel horrible. Empty. 

Not to mention a bit light-headed...though that might be because you’ve been in here for far longer than most experiments run. 

Your vision starts to swim, so you lay down on the cold linoleum floor to avoid falling over. When you feel something hard in your back pocket, you realize that you’ve had your phone on you this whole time. Kicking yourself for not doing so sooner, you dial the most recent number.

It only rings once. “whattaya want?”

“So, good news and bad news. Which one first?”

“uh...good news.” Sans’s voice crackles through the receiver. The lab has perfect cell service, so the interference must be on his end, which means he must be at the Snowdin station.

“Undyne and Alphys are finally hooking up.”

“nah.” 

“It’s true!”

“how d’ya know?”

You take the phone away from your ear and put it on speaker so he can hear what you can. You’re not sure where they are - probably a few rooms over - but they are  _ very  _ vocal. It’s been driving you nuts and making you uncomfortable. 

After a few moments, you hear Sans laughing on the other end of the line. “holy shit!”

You put the phone back up to your ear. “Yeah, I’m happy for them and everything, but I’m also completely disgusted.”

“yeah, no shit. couple’a fuckin’ animals…”

“Literally.” You chuckle, then continue, “so, the bad news…”

“lay it on me.”

“Alph left the machine on, and I’m still in it.” You check the time. “Going on an hour now. Starting to feel...a little off…”

“wait, the thing that pulls yer SOUL outta yer body?”

“Yeah…”

“shit, she just left ya there?” You swear you hear a hint of concern in his voice, just for a second. 

“Yeeeaaah...that’s kinda why I’m calling…”

There’s a pause. “so the damsel in distress needs savin’ yet again, does she?”

Your face flushes. “Shut up.”

“well, i ain’t exactly a knight in shinin’ armor, but i could be persuaded to rescue ya...y’know, for a price.” So much for concern.

You swear you can hear him better, all of a sudden, and...is that the sound of water in the background? “Sans, come on, just come and get me. Please?”

“you now i don’t do anything for free, sweetheart.” 

Liar! He never made you pay him back. It’s a good thing the favors you owe him are theoretical, or else they’d be piling up.

“...Fine. What do you want?”

“i’ll decide on the way.” He hangs up.

You know he won’t keep you waiting, but in the meantime, you try really hard not to pass out. 

Focus on breathing. In...out...in…

Why is it so hot in here? Even lying on the cool floor isn’t helping as much as you’d like it to. You drape an arm over your eyes to block out the harsh lights on the ceiling. It’s too bright and way too hot. Why do you feel like you can’t get enough air…? Your arms and legs are all tingly...and you feel so...far away…

\--

Sans taps the glass window looking in on the observation room. 

“yer hero has arrived,” he says, mimicking his brother’s grandiose tone. You don’t move, so he taps again. “uh, hello? can ya hear me in there…?” You should be able to, if you can hear Undyne and Alphys. 

Man, they’re still going at it, huh?

Seriously, though, why aren’t you moving? You look pale...or maybe it’s just the lighting? Are you even breathing? He can’t tell, not even with his face pressed up against the glass. 

He looks over at your SOUL, which is letting off a steady green glow in a nearby glass container. Looks fine. The monitor it’s hooked up to isn’t showing any alerts, so you’re fine, right? 

Wait, can a human die if their SOUL is separated from their body for too long? That’s not a thing, right? He really hopes that’s not a thing.

He switches off the machine, and it stops droning, but your SOUL doesn’t return to your body on its own, despite the port and connecting tube that’s opened up. 

Fuck. That’s not a good sign.

He carefully opens the glass container. Still no movement. What now? He can’t just grab it - that’d be way outta line.

Oh. Shit. Right. He has magic. Panic made him go and forget that he has magic, for fuck’s sake. 

He surrounds your SOUL with his magic, moves it out of the container, and rushes into the observation room. It doesn’t seem to be reacting to you at all, and you’re not reacting to anything - not even your name, which he’s not sure he’s ever actually said out loud - so he gets on his knees, bones clicking against the tile, and physically pushes your SOUL back into your chest.

Then...he waits.

\--

You wake up slowly, still in a bit of a daze. Your vision is blurry, your head hurts, and your limbs feel like gelatin, but the emptiness at your core has been filled. Your SOUL is back where it belongs! 

You blink a few times and are finally able to make out Sans, hovering in your periphery. 

_ Why’s he here? That’s weird.  _

_ Wait, no it’s not, I called him.  _

_ Why does he look so...sweaty? _

His sockets are wide, and his red eye-lights are trained on you. When he speaks, you can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

“the hell’s yer problem?” he asks, pretending to be irritated. It’s not very convincing. 

“Sorry…” you mumble, sitting up. Your whole body feels hot still, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or...whatever else is going on with your body right now. “I tried to stay awake…”

Seeing that you’re still unsteady, Sans puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “whattaya need? food? Water?”

You consider his question for a moment, suddenly noticing that, on top of everything else, your mouth is parched. “Water would help,” you say sheepishly.

He teleports away, and you shift so that your back is against the wall. Even just sitting down, you feel too weak to hold yourself up. You really hope you don’t pass out again. That would be twice in the span of ten minutes, and you’re not looking to break any records.

Sans reappears with a half-eaten bag of popato chisps and a glass of tap water covered in smudges. You take the glass of water with shaky hands, so weak that you have to use one to support the glass from the bottom. You drain the whole thing in seconds, then reach for the chisps. 

You’re feeling less overheated, and start to snack on the stale chisps while Sans disappears again to refill your glass. You drain the second one in no time flat, and finally you feel somewhat normal again. 

“...ya good?” he asks after a while.

You nod. “Thanks.”

“sure,” he nods, and takes a seat next to you. “does, uh...does this happen to ya often?” 

“Which part? The experiments, being left alone in here, or passing out?”

“the passin’ out part.”

You shrug. “Often enough that I’m used to it.” It was one of the reasons you weren’t fit for the King’s hunt. 

“so it’ll happen again?”

“Probably.” You hope it doesn’t happen again for a while. It’s embarrassing. Sans must think you’re absolutely pathetic - if he didn’t already think that of you already. 

Sans is quiet for a while as you finish the chisps. When the bag is empty, he stands, and offers you his hand to help you up.

“let’s get ya back to snowdin.” 

\--

Well, that’s not how Sans wanted that to go.

Sans thought he’d play the hero part for a bit in the hopes of finally getting some sugar - just one kiss, that’s all he wanted. He’d wanted that for a while, actually, but it’s not like he could initiate. He’d need lips for that, and he’s all teeth. 

No, it had been the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted without seeming like a total sap. And if you’d refused, he could just play it off as a joke and ask for something else. Money or booze or something.

But now? To ask for anything from you after all that bullshit at the lab would be fucked up. 

Sans heads to his Hotland station after dropping you off. He asked you to keep what happened between the two of you - no need to tell Papyrus. His younger brother had enough to be pissy about these days without hearing about the near-death of his ticket out of the Underground.

He sits slumped forward as far as his spine will allow. He’s waiting on an inevitable call from Alphys. She’ll be wondering where her favorite test subject went, and there’s no way she’ll call Papyrus - the taller skeleton scares her shitless. Besides, she knows that Sans spends more time with the human, anyway.

She’s in for a pretty unpleasant conversation, though. 

His phone goes off, and he lets it ring a few times before picking up.

“what.” 

“Please tell me the human is with you.” Oh? No stutter. He thought she’d be panicking right about now.

“she was. i took ‘er home.”

“Oh, thank the stars...I thought she’d gotten out by herself, somehow. The last thing I need is a human running amuck in my lab.”

Sans isn’t surprised that she’s more concerned about her lab than she is about you, but it does piss him off. “she was out cold when i found ‘er. care to explain that?”

“Out cold? I have no idea what you’re talking about. She probably got bored and fell asleep.”

His voice is cold as ice as he answers, “nah, that ain’t it, doc. see, she called me to come get ‘er - since ya were  _ busy _ , an’ all - and not five minutes later, i walk in to find ‘er passed out on the floor of yer lab, with all yer machines still on. i turn the damn things off, and ‘er SOUL...nothin’ happened. it stayed put right in that container ya built for it. i had to go an’ put it back in ‘er body m’self. now, i’m no expert on souls or nothin’, but that ain’t a good sign, is it, doc?”

Alphys is quiet for a while. When she finally responds, her voice is much quieter. 

“N-no...it’s not...a human SOUL’s delay or f-failure to return to its body is a sign of deterioration...one of the l-late-stage ones...h-hold on…” 

Alphys’s claws clacking on her keyboard can be heard on the other end of the line.

“...the final readings from today’s observation show that her SOUL is stable...there’s no sign of deterioration at all, in fact. There’s no reason for it not to return on its own…”

“well, ya better figure out how to prevent it from happenin’ again. if it does, i’ll have to tell Papyrus. ya don’t want that, now do ya?”

“N-no! P-papyrus doesn’t need to hear about this! It w-won’t h-happen again, I-I-I swear!” 

Ah, that stutter would be music to Sans’s ears, if he had any. Good to know some monsters still have a healthy amount of fear in them for his brother, despite his association with the human. 

“I-I’ll keep a closer eye on her...I’ll hook up some m-m-monitors up to her body, to keep track of her v-vitals. If there r-really is a problem, it’ll be with her b-body. I’ll f-figure out what it is.”

“good. nice talkin’ to ya, doc. always a pleasure.”

“W-wait! Before you go...you said you put her SOUL back yourself?”

“yeah.” 

“As in, with magic?”

“‘course. the hands-on approach ain’t really my style.”

“And it didn’t resist at all?”

“no...why?”

“Well, it’s just...the human’s SOUL has always been rather avoidant. It shies away from magic - my own, Undyne’s P-papyrus’s - and it doesn’t seem to take Blue Magic very well. You really had no trouble with it?”

“no.” 

“Interesting...would you maybe be willing to stop by the lab tomorrow during the human’s observation so I can run some tests? I have a theory…”


	5. Why? For Science, Of Course!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphys insists on doing an experiment. You're...not thrilled, to put it lightly.

You hate this. You hate this so much. After yesterday, the last thing you wanted was to come back to the lab and be separated from your SOUL again. The only reason you hadn’t outright refused is because Papyrus wasn’t the one who came to pick you up this morning.

Sans stands on the other side of the glass, looking almost apologetic. Alphys is next to him, fiddling with the machine, practically manic with excitement.

You have no idea what’s in store for you, but you’re pretty sure you’re gonna have a bad time. 

You lean your back against the wall of the observation room and slowly slide down it to sit on the floor. Might as well get comfy.

\--

You look absolutely fucking miserable, and Sans can’t blame you. 

He’d wanted to put this off, but Alphys had bothered him about it non-stop until he’d relented. It was a solid reminder of why she’d been made the Royal Scientist: her curiosity was an unstoppable force.

Alphys finally gets the machine running, and your SOUL is dragged out of you and into the glass container on their side of the wall. Something about it seems different from yesterday.

Alphys surprises Sans by removing your SOUL from the container, reaching in and grabbing it with her tiny hands. Her rough treatment of it makes Sans bristle a bit, especially when he glances through the glass and sees that you’ve curled in on yourself, your face hidden behind your knees.

“Now, this test is very simple. We’ve tried it several times with Papyrus, but I want to see how you manage. All you have to do is hold it.”

When Sans’s good eye flares to life in his skull, she pulls the captive SOUL away from him.

“ _ Without _ magic,” she clarifies. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, and certainly not as easy as I’m making it look.”

Easy? She’s got the poor thing in a vice grip. 

“As I mentioned yesterday, the human’s SOUL is rather avoidant. It will do just about anything to get away from you. Papyrus has had some luck in forming a sort of cage around it with his fingers. I suggest you do the same, at least to start.”

She offers the SOUL to him again, and he holds out his hands. The moment she releases it, he laces his fingers together around it, while still trying not to actually touch it. The way it reacts is completely different from yesterday. Its movement is random and erratic, almost too fast to follow.

Despite his efforts, it makes contact with his bony palm, and a surge of ice-cold fear shoots through him...but it’s not his.

It’s you. You’re terrified.

You’re so good at keeping your cool under pressure, he never would’ve known. Does this place really scare you that much? Does Alphys? After everything you’ve been through here, he can’t blame you for being scared.

He’s not sure what to do. Part of him wants to let you go, so your SOUL can go back to you, but a more sensible part of him knows that’s a bad idea. If he lets go, Alphys will snatch your SOUL up again. 

Now he understands what that malicious grin on her face while she was holding your SOUL was about. She must get a kick out of feeling your terror, and knowing that she’s the cause. It makes her, a relatively weak monster, feel powerful.

There has to be a way to calm you down. Sans tries to make eye contact with you through the glass, but you’re still huddled against the wall, face hidden. Maybe he should say something to you?

No, not in front of Alphys. She’s smart - if he’s not careful, she’ll figure out exactly how he feels about you. That kind of realization could spell disaster for his reputation.

So Sans focuses on your SOUL and does...something. He’s not sure what, exactly. He just keeps repeating in his head that you’re fine. It’s just him, and he’s not gonna hurt you. You can relax. 

Slowly, painfully so, your SOUL starts to settle. 

Alphys watches, enraptured, as he unfolds his hands. Whatever he did, it worked. Your SOUL is calm, and floats peacefully over his open hand.

“Yes…” Alphys practically hisses with delight, “I knew my theory was correct...Papyrus simply lacks the patience for it!”

“what? i thought ya said he already did this?”

“Oh, he’s tried. But time and time again, he’s failed to get her to cooperate. It was really starting to get to him. Though I can’t imagine he’ll be happy to hear that you succeeded where he could not...and on your first try, no less!”

“and what, exactly, did i succeed at?”

“The first step! Once the SOUL becomes cooperative, one can theoretically take Determination from it in order to pass through the barrier...of course, the next step will require quite a bit of trial and error to get right. Too little Determination, and you won’t be able to breach the barrier at all. Too much, and you’ll get to the other side...but you’ll definitely die from overexposure. Determination is extremely powerful stuff, after all.” She gives Sans a once-over. “Do you think you’d be up for that kind of testing?”

“what’re ya sayin’?” he narrows his eye-sockets.

“I’m saying that it’s no secret that you struggled with your Hit Points in your youth. You’ve gotten stronger over the years, but you’re still not quite as durable as most…”

He’s not surprised to find that Alphys knows about his health problems. Guess he was right about her being dangerously smart. Hell, she’s dangerous in general. That’s what happens when a person’s curiosity outweighs their morality. 

“then just keep doin’ the experiments with Papyrus. he’s the one who wants to go through to the surface.”

“I agree that working with Papyrus is the better option, but he would first have to reach your level of...alliance...with the human. Do you think you can teach him how?”

“‘course i can.” Sans taught Papyrus everything he knows. What’s one more lesson? 

Sans can see the malicious intent in Alphys’s eyes as she reaches out to take back your SOUL. This time, Sans is the one who holds it out of reach. There's no way he’s putting it back in the mad scientist’s sweaty little claws.

“are we done here?”

\--

It’s awful at first. You can’t feel anything - not really - but you know when Alphys has you in her grip, even without looking. It’s an intensely uncomfortable sensation, like someone snaking a hand under your skin and squeezing your heart. More than anything, you just want it to stop.

But then, at some point, you start to feel calm. Something’s telling you that you’re fine, and you relax a little. 

Then it dawns on you that Sans is the one holding your SOUL. You’re sure of it. There’s no way you’d be this relaxed in anyone else’s hands.

You trust him. 

The door to the observation room opens, and Sans makes his way over to you. It takes you a second to recognize your own SOUL, with its bright green glow, as he hands it back to you. You smile at him, and reach out and take it, instinctively pushing it back into your chest where it belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this slightly shorter-than-average chapter!


	6. A Date With The Wrong Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus takes you to a fancy restaurant, and the two of you make a deal.

You’re standing on the front step of the skeleton household. It’s freezing - as usual - but Papyrus won’t let you in, because apparently you’re going out tonight. 

“You’re taking me on a date?”

“Yes.” He’s ready to go. Well, you are, too, technically, but your ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt don’t exactly match his sharp suit.

“...Why?”

“My Brother Insists That We Strengthen Our Relationship.” 

Yeah, that’s a bit hard to believe. You lean to the side so you can see Sans on the couch, but he won’t look at you. Instead, he’s watching the tv with an uninterested expression. 

Papyrus continues, “Going On A Date Is The Most Efficient Way To Do That.”

Of course, it all comes down to efficiency with him. Still, you get the feeling that he doesn’t know how relationships are supposed to work. How could he, when no monster in their right might will even look at him for fear of pissing him off?

“That’s...not really how that works...but fine,” you relent. “Let’s just get out of the cold.”

Papyrus steps out onto the front stoop beside you and closes the door behind him. “What Do You Mean, ‘That’s Not How It Works?’” 

When he starts walking, his long legs striding through the ankle-deep snow with ease, you have to jog to keep up with him. 

He seems to be waiting for your answer. “Getting along with someone usually comes before going on dates, not after.”

“Is That So?” He contemplates this for a moment before shaking his head. “It Doesn’t Matter. We Do Not Have Time To Establish A Rapport. We Must Make Do With What We Have.”

“Which is, last time I checked, the bare minimum of tolerance,” you mutter. He either doesn’t hear you, or pretends not to. “I don’t get a say in how this plays out, do I?”

“You Do Not.” 

“Right, of course not.” You roll your eyes.

The two of you head north, and stop at the edge of the river. There, the Riverperson waits. Papyrus boards the boat first, then holds out a hand to help you get on. At least he has manners. He hands the Riverperson a jangling bag of gold coins and tells them to take you to Hotland.

“So, why are we going to Hotland? You hate Hotland.”

“Unfortunately, The Only Suitable Location For Our Date Is In Hotland. Waterfall Does Not Have Any Restaurants, And Grillby’s Is A Disgusting, Grease-Soaked Nightmare.”

“Is it? Sans raves about the burgers...”

“Sans Would Eat Straight Out Of The Garbage If I Let Him.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. You can’t help but laugh at your friend’s expense. “The restaurant you picked, it’s not anywhere fancy, right?” Given his getup, you assume it is. “I’m way underdressed...I didn’t exactly bring fancy clothes down here with me.”

“I Have Already Taken Your Inadequate Wardrobe Into Consideration. We Will Be Stopping At The Lab. An Acquaintance Of Mine Has Agreed To Meet Us There With Several Dresses In Your Size.” His long clawed fingers tap against the edge of the boat. “This Was Last Notice, So He Was Unable To Prepare Something Specifically For You. However, He Will Be Taking Your Measurements Tonight So He Can Design Something For You To Wear On Our Next Date.”

You ignore the bit about having to do this more than once and focus on the positives: “You’re having a dress custom-made for me?” 

“Several, Actually.” 

You don’t know what to say. No one had ever offered to buy dresses for you, let alone have dresses made for you...wasn’t that expensive? You can’t possibly be worth that much...not to this skeleton, anyway.

“Why?”

“My Human Cannot Be Seen With Me In Such An...Unkempt State.” He gestures to you with a look of disdain. “I Deserve Nothing But The Very Best - And You, Therefore, Must Look Your Very Best.” 

Under normal circumstances, there’s no way you’d accept such a thing as a gift, but...given that he’s having them made to satisfy his own narcissism rather than out of generosity, you won’t feel too bad about it.

Still, the thought of getting all dolled up and going somewhere fancy has you a bit excited. More than a bit, really. You’ve never been anywhere fancier than the local italian restaurant, and while you don’t consider yourself a classy lady by any stretch of the imagination, you’re sure you can fake it for a few hours.

Whatever happens, you’re sure it’ll be better than some of the blind dates you’ve been on.

\--

You’re surprised to find out that Papyrus’s ‘acquaintance’ is Mettaton, that robot you’ve seen on TV a few times. He usually has quite the stage presence despite his...er...injuries? He even takes on multiple roles in the movies and shows he produces. 

Here in the lab, though, he seems downright meek, like he’d rather be anywhere else. You can definitely relate.

He brought a large selection of dresses for you, but you can tell right away that most of them will be too big, or just not the right shape.

“Good gracious, Captain, when you said she was on the small side, I didn’t think you meant this small,” the robot quips, sizing you up. He looks at the dresses he brought with him, wringing his metal hands. “I think I have something that will fit her, but...well, it’s not really to your tastes, sir.”

“Whatever It Is, It Will Have To Do. We Are Short On Time.”

“Of course. One moment, please.” He riffles through the dresses - each one contained in a separate plastic cover - and pulls out one that looks about your size. It’s a simple navy blue halter-top dress with a slightly ruffled skirt and an open back. It’s not your style, either, but it’s cute nonetheless. 

You try it on, and are pleasantly surprised by how good you look in it. Once Mettaton picks out some heels, adds a few simple accessories, and does your hair and makeup, you look not just classy, but refined. 

Papyrus seems pleased with the results, as well. Before the two of you head to your destination, Papyrus pulls something out of his pocket. It’s a small box containing a pair of sleek black gloves. 

As you pull them on, he explains, “I Could Not Help But Notice Your Tendency To Cover The Scars On Your Arm. I Cannot Say I Understand This Habit Of Yours - Such Marks Are Signs Of Strength Here In The Underground - But I Would Rather You Not Be Fidgeting On Our Date. You May Consider This Gift As...Compensation, For The Injury I Dealt You.”

“Thank you, Papyrus.” You can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like an apology. It’s probably the best you’re going to get from him, so you’ll take it. Besides, the gloves definitely add to the look you’ve got going on. 

\--

The restaurant Papyrus takes you to definitely qualifies as the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. You feel out of place, knowing a girl like you doesn’t really belong here...but that makes it kind of thrilling, too. 

Thanks to Papyrus’s reputation and status as Captain of the Royal Guard, the two of you are seated and served promptly. A waiter or waitress stops by practically every five minutes to ask if you need anything. They all look absolutely terrified of Papyrus, as do the other guests, but they don’t seem to have any issue looking at you with thinly-veiled ire.

Papyrus, meanwhile, seems completely disinterested. He’s sitting back in his chair with his arms and legs crossed. He hasn’t touched his meal. Suddenly, he speaks up.

“Tell Me About Your Aspirations.”

You stop eating, caught by surprise, and put down your utensils. “What’s that? You actually want to talk to me? Are you feeling okay?” You ask dryly. He remains silent and his face impassive, so you decide to actually give him an answer. “I guess I’d like to continue living. That’s the main one, right now.”

“Do You Have Any Hobbies?”

“Not anymore. I used to sing, back on the surface. I’m a bit out of practice now, though.” 

“What Is Your Favorite Color?”

“Red.” Before he can ask you another, you fire off one of your own: “Why are you suddenly asking me all these questions?”

“We Are On A Date. Is Talking Not What Humans Do On Dates?”

You cross your arms, mimicking his posture. “This is less a conversation and more an interrogation...and usually, you don’t give a shit about me.”

He uncrosses his arms and lays one arm on the table, tapping his sharp fingertips impatiently. “My Brother Thinks We May Have More In Common Than We Realize.”

You let out a single, humorless laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

“As Do I.” He picks up his knife, looking at his reflection in it. Then, Idly, he asks, “...Tell Me This, Human: When We Become Unimaginably Powerful As The Result Of Our Bond And Make Our Way To The Surface, What Is It You Would Like To Do There?”

Now that was quite a question. With access to Papyrus’s magic, you could do some serious damage...but did you really want to take advantage of that? You don’t like to think of yourself as an angry person, and you’re certainly not one to hold a grudge...but...well...there is one person you can think of...the only person to ever earn your hatred…and you happen to know where she lives.

The words don’t come easily to you. They get caught up in your throat, threatening to make you sick. Still, you manage to whisper: 

“I want to make my mother pay.”

“Is That So?” Suddenly, Papyrus seems very invested in the conversation. He sets the knife back down, leans forward in his seat, and folds his hands in front of him. “You Have Surprised Me, Human. I Did Not Think You Were Capable Of Harboring Such Dark Intentions.” 

You stare down at the table, ashamed. 

“Let Us Make A Deal, Then. In Return For Helping Me Achieve My Ultimate Goal Of Becoming Captain Of The Royal Guard, I Shall Aid You In Getting Your Revenge. I Would Even Be Willing To Give You Advice On How To Best Go About It...Perhaps On Our Next Date?”

You’re not thrilled about the idea of going on another date with Papyrus, but...you know you don’t really have a choice in the matter. And of course he’d think planning a murder would be a good date activity. 

“Do We Have A Deal?” He reaches his sharp-clawed hand out to you. 

Quietly, but with certainty, you agree. “Deal.” You may not have a choice about the whole soul bond thing, but you can at least use the terrifying magic powers you’ll get to free yourself from your abuser. 

It’s an opportunity you simply can’t pass up.

\--

The second you and Papyrus are out the door, Sans lets out a groan of frustration and slides so far down the couch that he ends up sitting on the floor. He rubs his eye sockets with the bony palms of his hands. 

How? How had he fucked up so bad? 

He’d only meant to encourage his brother to compromise a bit. To let go of the idea of owning you and try getting to know you instead. To talk with you and not at you, for once. To spend some time with you outside the lab setting that scared you so much. All in an attempt to get you to warm up to him...not the other way around. 

It didn’t have to be a date. Sans hadn’t suggested it - Papyrus had come up with that winner of an idea all on his own. 

And the worst part? Sans has absolutely no right to be as angry or jealous about it as he is. Papyrus’s plans for you have been crystal clear from the beginning. He’s known from the get-go that it will never work out, but he’s gone and gotten attached to you anyway. 

Not on purpose, it kinda just...happened. The problem isn’t that he wants to fuck you - that by itself wouldn’t have affected anything. No, the problem is that he also happens to actually like you...like, as a person. It’s out of his control. In fact, it’s your fault! 

The way you respect him, despite his arrangement with Papyrus…

The way you speak to him, like a friend and an equal...

The way you trust him, despite his reputation…

you’re doing it all on purpose. Definitely. 

Probably. 

Okay, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter! He’s fallen for it. He’s fallen for you, and he hates it, because he knows how all this is going to end. 

But if he’s the only one who suffered for it, that’s fine. He could deal. At least it was the kind of hurt that wouldn’t kill him. He just hadn’t been expecting his brother to try turning your partnership into something more than platonic. 

That’s what he was trying to do, right? He’d pulled out the dating manual and everything. Sans was baffled. Papyrus had never been interested in that sorta thing! 

Romantic relationships in the Underground were unheard of. They never lasted. Nobody but family was trusted like that. Soul-Bonds were permanent, and those who went through with it always ended up having kids at some point, but love was definitely not required. More often than not, the pair would have kids just as a way of getting rid of each other - a form of mutually-assured destruction when they absolutely couldn’t stand the bond anymore. 

All Soul-Bonds were arranged and carried out by the Royal Family. They had to approve each and every one to assure that potential offspring wouldn’t be capable of overpowering - and thus overthrowing - them. At least in this case, the King didn’t need to worry about that last part. Sure, you and Papyrus would be pretty fucking strong once you were bound, but the King had no reason to worry. You were incapable of hurting him, and Papyrus had no intention of seizing the throne. 

At least, not to the King’s knowledge. Or to anyone’s knowledge but Sans’s. Why would he risk telling anyone else about his plan to go through the barrier, take the SOULs of six humans, and destroy the barrier completely so that his brother [and everyone else, consequently] could join him on the surface? Surely, if he had, the King never would have hired him as a member of the Royal Guard. 

His hopes had been that you could become comfortable with Papyrus without him getting attached. Sans has already made that mistake, and he’s going to pay for it. But Papyrus doesn’t have to. He’s great at compartmentalizing - if he can continue to see you as a means to an end instead of as a person, it won’t hurt as much when he takes your SOUL and uses it to break the barrier. 

So long as he continues to keep you at arm's length, killing you doesn't have to hurt him.


	7. Warm Fuzzies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry gives you a hard time.

This guy. This fuckin’ guy. 

He was in for a bad time the moment he started talking to you. 

Sans isn’t sure how Jerry’s managed to survive as long as he has. It’s probably because no one can stand to be around him for as long as it would take to dust him. 

‘Course, he’d do it himself, but...maybe not while you’re around. He’s worried he might scare you. That, and knowing you’re watching, he might try to show off a little, and not paying full attention to your enemy is a good way to get dead.

Besides, Sans isn’t exactly the hero type. He’s got an image to keep up, and jumping to your defense might make jerry - and everyone the loose-lipped bastard talks to after the fact - think that he’s gone soft.

He’ll wait, and watch, and make sure the creep doesn’t lay either of his slimy hands on you.

\--

You’re no stranger to cat-callers. Though you don’t often acknowledge your own appearance, you’re decently attractive. Besides, the kind of people who think shouting lewd comments at complete strangers is acceptable tend not to have very high standards.

But Jerry? This guy doesn’t know when to quit. He’s been following you since you left Snowdin with your groceries for the week, and wouldn’t let up. 

“Come on, baby, lemme take you home. I’ll show you a good time!” His high-pitched, nasally voice carries easily though the snowy forest. It was making you stress-sweat despite the chill.

You’re almost to your house, you can see it over that hill. Just a little further, and you’ll be free. 

Jerry, it seems, has other ideas. The lumpy monster reaches out with a too-long arm and circles it around your waist, bringing you to a halt. You drop your grocery bags in surprise, and he starts to pull you closer. “C’mere, baby, lemme see you up close.”

“Let go! I’m not interested, so just leave me alone!” You shout, trying and failing to pry his unsettling noodle arm off of you. He might be shorter than you, but you know he’s stronger. You’re heart’s beating a mile a minute, and you’re starting to feel flushed and faint.

Jerry just smiles in a way that makes your skin crawl and your heart sink. “Ooh, feisty. That’s so hot. I love it when  _ sluts _ like you play hard to get.”

There’s a flash of blue, and Jerry lets out a shocked cry of pain as his now severed arm disintegrates. “What the fuck was that!?” he asks, clutching the stump of his arm. Glancing behind you, he seems to find his answer, and immediately flees, falling all over himself on the slippery snow-covered ground.

As soon as he’s out of sight, you sink to your knees in the snow, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You clutch at your still-pounding heart, willing it to slow down. You’re definitely gonna pass out, you can feel it.

\--

“Sweetheart?” Sans takes a step toward you. Looking at you, he can tell your SOUL is fine. It’s as bright as ever, stuck inside your ribcage where it should be, completely unharmed. So then why do you look like you’re in pain?

He rushes to you, kneeling in the snow in front of you. He freezes up, not sure what to do. Is there anything he can do, really? Even if there isn’t, he has to try. 

He places his hands on your shoulders as gently as he can. You’re so small compared to him, and you look so frail. You don’t seem to notice him at first, but then you reach out and grab hold of his open coat with one hand. That act alone is enough to make his SOUL shudder - the sheer neediness of it, and the way your knuckles go white from exertion, like he’s some kind of lifeline.

“are ya alright?” he asks, hunching so the two of you are eye-to-eye-socket.

He can barely hear your response. “Nope.” You laugh weakly. “Just...gimme a minute…”

“take all the time ya need, sweetheart...i ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he assures you. As if he’d leave you alone while you’re like this. Fuck no. Fuck that. He’s not leaving your side until you stop scaring the shit out of him. 

But the two of you can’t stay out here in the open. Your jeans are soaked from the snow, and the cold air can’t be helping you, either. Not to mention that if anyone saw you like this...saw  _ him _ like this...It’d turn you both into easy targets, and make things that much harder for Papyrus.

Sans moves to cover your tiny hand still gripping his coat. It gets your attention, and you raise your eyes. 

“i’m gonna move us inside.” 

You nod, but he can’t do it with you at a distance like this. He needs you closer, so he doesn’t lose you in the jump. 

He slides the hand still on your shoulder down to the small of your back, and pulls you in so you’re sitting snugly between his own legs. He’s glad you keep your eyes shut when he moves the two of you - it’s easy to get dizzy. He settles you both onto the carpet of your living room, between the tv and the sofa.

\--

A spicy-sweet scent envelopes you. It’s the same smell on his jacket, though much stronger. You realize it must be his magic. It’s...grounding. 

Eyes still squeezed shut, you lean forward, resting your forehead on Sans’s t-shirt covered sternum. 

Sans sighs, and slowly raises the hand at your back to run his claws through your hair. 

Slowly, you start to feel better. More present, and far less likely to pass out. Eventually, you feel well enough to push back from Sans, just a bit, and let go of his coat. 

“better?” he asks, still holding you, as if unsure if you can support yourself.

“Yeah...thanks.” You smile up at him. Despite your answer, it takes him a few more moments to release you. Once he does, it hits you - you’re absolutely freezing. You stand - slowly, just in case you get light-headed again. “I think...I’m gonna take a bath.” 

“uh...sure. yeah, go ahead…” Sans awkwardly responds.

“Just...y’know...to warm up. I won’t be long.”

“right.” he hesitates, eye-lights roaming around the room, looking anywhere but at you. “do ya...want me to stay, or…?”

“Yes! I mean, if you don’t mind? It’s just, after all that, I-”

“right, no, i gotcha. no worries. i’ll just chill out here.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, be right back.”

“sure.” 

You go into your bedroom and grab an oversized t-shirt and some sleep shorts from your dresser, and head into the bathroom. You’re not dirty or anything, and you don’t feel like washing your hair, so you figure you’ll just soak in the tub for a bit.

While you’re waiting for the bath to fill, you undress and find a line of purple circling your middle, a still-developing bruise that’s already tender to the touch. 

You sigh. You miss being able to take a hit without it showing. You never used to bruise this easy.

The hot water feels heavenly as you sink into it, dispelling the chill in your hands and feet instantly. You’re once again glad you cut your hair. With it short like this, it’s a lot easier to make sure it doesn’t dip into the water by accident.

You’re only in there for a few minutes - fifteen, tops. You always make the water way too hot and have to bail before you boil.

You throw on the clothes you grabbed from your room and head back out into the living room, where Sans is watching TV. You stand in the open doorway of the bathroom for a few moments, thinking about all he’s done for you.

Finding you an out-of-the-way place to stay, where other monster’s won’t bother you.

Fixing up that old TV and bringing you a bunch of other stuff to keep you from dying of boredom. 

Cutting your hair for you.

Helping you through these weird dizzy spells.

It was...a lot. And he’d never once asked for anything in return.

Sure, you’d known other people willing to put up with you back on the surface, but they’d also been willing to take advantage of you the moment they had the opportunity.

Sans hadn’t.

It could be that your standards are way too low. After years of settling for guys who really only wanted one thing from you, of course you’d fall hard and fast for someone who treats you like you’re worth more. Like you  _ are _ more.

You know heartfelt thank-yous aren’t a thing down here, but he deserves to know how grateful you are, doesn’t he? You don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but...you wonder...if he’d let you…?

You walk up behind the sofa, allowing the uneven wooden floor to creak beneath you. “Sans…?”

He doesn’t turn to look at you. “‘sup, dollface? feelin’ better?” He asks, casual as anything.

You lean forward, stomach pressed against the back of the couch, and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, so they’re resting on his shoulders. You place your head beside his and whisper your thanks. 

He’s frozen in place and doesn’t respond. You press a light kiss to his cheekbone and pull away, your fingers lingering on his shoulders.

Nothing.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you. You can’t see his expression, but his body is tense, which can’t be good.

Your heart sinks, and you worry that you’ve upset him, that it was too much. 

Without a word, you tug on your shoes and walk outside to retrieve your groceries, which are still sitting in the snow. You’re disappointed, but not surprised, to find that they’re frozen solid.

When you come back inside, it’s like nothing happened. Sans’s posture is relaxed again, and he even turns to look at you, raising a brow-bone. 

“Looks like I’m gonna have to wait a while for dinner,” you mutter, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. 

“i could take ya to grillby’s.”

_ The  _ Grillby’s? The one Sans is literally always talking about? What a treat! You remember what Papyrus said about it, but at the moment, you’ll eat just about anything. Besides, Sans will be there.

“Sounds like a date!” You joke.

Sans chuckles softly, “yeah, sure. it’s a date.” 

Is he being sarcastic? He’s probably being sarcastic...but you really hope he isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is one of the chapters that still makes me all warm and tingly. I guess that's why I decided to keep the chapter title, despite the fact that it's actually three chapters from the first version combined.  
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	8. A Date With The Correct Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans takes you to Grillbys for a good time.

Grillby’s is a bit different from what you’d pictured.

You were expecting a super-shady establishment, like those villain bars you see in cartoons - smoke filling the air, broken glass covering the ground, the whole place seemingly held together with spite and grime.

Instead, you find that it’s very clean, and pretty damn classy, too. Most of the decor is black and silver, with splashes of blue here and there to match the owner of the place - a cobalt blue fire elemental. 

Sure, the patrons are a bit cold when you first walk in, shooting you the same glares you get on the street. Once Sans follows you in, though, they avert their eyes. 

Sans guides you to the bar with a hand on the small of your back, and you take the last two open seats. All Sans has to do is hold up two fingers to the fire elemental - Grillby, you assume - and he pours each of you a glass of what looks like whiskey. Not your favorite, but you’re not going to complain. It’s free, after all.

He slides Sans’s drink over unceremoniously, but places yours before you with care. His piercing purple eyes meet yours, and he holds your gaze for a moment. “This one is...on the house,” he says in a voice that sounds more like the crackle of a campfire than words. Still, somehow, you understand him just fine.

“Oh? Is it ladies’ night or something?” You ask, taking a sip. Yep, definitely whiskey. Cinnamon whiskey. You’re tempted to ask for ice, but you’re not sure Grillby would oblige.

“No such thing here, my dear. But any friend of Sans’s is a friend of mine.” The blue flames of his face break into a jagged grin of orange fire. 

You think he might be going for intimidation, but to you, he just looks like a neon jack-o-lantern. 

“Of course, if you wanted to be more than friends, I wouldn’t complain.” He takes your free hand in his. At first, your instincts tell you to pull away, but you find that he’s not hot. Instead, his not-so-solid hand is pleasantly warm. 

You giggle. “Sorry, but you’re not my type. Too smooth.” You emphasize your words by sliding your hand from his in one motion. “I prefer my men a little rough around the edges, y’know?”

His smile vanishes, and he glances at Sans before turning to attend to other customers. 

Sans laughs, clearly delighted by the interaction. “damn, i don’t think i’ve ever seen him strike out like that.”

“What can I say? Fire isn’t really my element.”

“and here i thought ya were a real  _ fire _ cracker.”

“No way! I’m obviously a  _ stone-cold _ badass.” 

“really? guess that explains why yer so  _ dense _ .”

You smack his arm and take another swig. You know you’re drinking a bit fast, but you wanna keep up with Sans. Besides, it’s a bar for fuck’s sake! You’re not looking to stay sober, especially not after the kind of day you’ve had.

You remember suddenly that you’re starving. The next time Grillby passes by, you flag him down.

“You serve hot wings here?”

“Certainly. They’re one of my specialties.”

“Sweet, I’ll have a dozen!”

Grillby leans over the counter and asks, “How hot would you like them?” His tone is blatantly suggestive.

You decide to play along, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. You lean forward until your face is only an inch from his. You can feel the heat coming off of him. “As hot as they come, babe,” you say with a wink. Grillby nods slyly and disappears into the kitchen.

“‘babe’? How come he gets ‘babe’ and i get stuck with ‘bones’?” He grumbles, draining what’s left of his own drink. “thought ya said he wasn’t even yer type.”

“Hmm...You’re right. ‘Babe’ is too general. I’ll call him ‘hot stuff’ instead” Sans frowns. You know perfectly well that’s not what his objection was, but you can’t not give him a hard time. Seeing him be jealous over you makes you feel wanted, and that’s too rare a feeling for you to pass up.

Grillby comes back out with the hot wings, which are literally on fire. You’re not sure what you expected. You and Sans both burst into hysterical laughter.

“yer not seriously gonna try to eat those?” he asks as you try to figure out how to grab one without catching fire yourself.

“Hell yeah, I am. I’m hungry.”

“yer crazy’s whatcha are.”

“You say that like you didn’t already know it.” You finally pick one up, finding that the fire is just for show, and doesn’t burn you any more than Grillby himself did. You hold it up triumphantly and take a messy bite.

Sans doesn’t seem to mind your terrible manners. He reaches over and steals a leg from your plate, despite you trying to swat him away. He doesn’t bother eating around the bone - he just drops the whole thing into his jagged jaws. It’s disgusting, but also kind of impressive.

This is so, so different from your night out with Papyrus. There’s no pressure to be something you’re not. Sure, you had fun pretending to be fancy for an evening, but that’s all it was - pretending. You’re way more comfortable getting wasted and eating bar food with Sans than you were drinking wine and eating fancy steak with Papyrus. 

Of course, there’s also the fact that Sans is just more fun to be around. He’s good company, with a killer sense of humor. Literally - you almost choke a few times as he refuses to stop telling terrible jokes while you’re stuffing your face.

\--

You’re still laughing several drinks later, long after you’ve cleared your plate. You’ve moved on from jokes and are now trying out horrendous pickup lines on each other, and are having way too much fun. People are starting, but neither of you care.

There comes a point where you can’t put off a trip to the bathroom any longer. By the time you drunkenly stumble your way back, your seat has been stolen and Sans has done jack shit about it. Not because he didn’t notice - if that dopey grin is anything to go by, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“sorry, doll, no savin’ seats. s’against the rules.” Oh, yeah, sure. What a load.

“Well,  _ fuck _ .” You mutter.

Sans pats his femur, just like he did back in Snowdin forest a while back. “this one’s still open for ya, if you’ve gone an’ changed yer mind ‘bout it.” 

You don’t even hesitate, taking his outstretched hand and hopping up onto his lap. You’re way too drunk for shame. 

He laughs. “last time I offered, ya called me a perv. what gives? is a few drinks really all it takes to change yer mind?”

You’re a little distracted by how his deep voice makes your ribcage vibrate. “Most’a the time, yeah. Get me drunk enough, and I stop carin’ about most things.” You pick up his glass and steal a sip. “You still gotta keep your hands to yourself, though.”

“i make no promises.” he leans forward so his jacket-covered chest is flush with your back. His arms circle around yours and he takes his drink back. When he speaks next, his voice is right next to your ear, just loud enough for you to hear. “hope yer comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause now that i got ya, i ain’t lettin’ ya go.” His words, while bordering on threatening, are spoken with underlying warmth. 

You’re perfectly content to spend the rest of your evening right there - and you’re pretty sure you do. There’s no real way of knowing, though. You can’t remember the rest of the night. 

There’s one thing you’re sure of, however.

It was definitely a date. 


	9. Two Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, waking up in someone else's bed isn't so bad.

You wake up disoriented, but not for the reasons you’re used to. Back on the surface, you’d occasionally get blackout drunk on purpose - it wasn’t your favorite way of dealing with stress, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It normally resulted in a migraine, nausea, and even a stranger passed out in your bed from time to time.

This time, however, you feel fine. Your head is clear and you don’t feel like throwing up. In fact, the only thing out of place is you somehow having wound up in Sans’s bed.

Ha. ‘Somehow.’ Who are you kidding? This is where the night had been leading, hadn’t it?

He’s asleep on his back, and you’re flush against his side, your right arm draped over his torso. You can feel his hand resting on your hip.

Had the two of you…?

You take stock of your current state of dress. You’re pants-less and braless, but still wearing your t-shirt and underwear. Sans is without a shirt, but is still wearing his shorts, so you figure the two of you didn’t get very far before passing out. You’re almost disappointed…but you’re also kind of touched. Most human men wouldn’t have wasted a golden opportunity like that.

You sit up - real slow, so as not to wake him. You get a good look at his face and have to stifle a laugh. At the very least, the two of you had one hell of a make-out session. Sans’s skull is covered in your lipstick - most of it smeared, but some distinct marks still visible on his forehead and near his temple.

Honestly, you can’t believe he let you do that to him. Hopefully, it had been after getting back here, where no one else could see. Allowing a tiny human to show that much affection in public…probably wouldn’t have been good for his image.

You pick your phone up off the floor and check the time. It’s past when Papyrus would pick you up to head over to the lab. He’s probably looking for you at your house.

_ Shit. _

You sigh, knowing you’re in for a lecture when he tracks you down.

You drop your legs over the side of the mattress, searching the dim and cluttered floor for your clothes.

Sans’s clawed hand wraps gently around your wrist. “where ya goin’, sweetheart? got somewhere to be?”

“The lab,” you remind him.

He frowns and sits up. “don’t bother with that place today.” He snakes an arm around your middle and presses his sharp teeth to the back of your neck, making you shiver. You lean into his touch, and the razor-sharp tips of his fingers slide under your shirt. “just…stay. take it easy. I wanna-”

There’s an aggressive knock on the bedroom door, and the two of you freeze.

“Sans? Have You Seen The Human? She Is Not At The Safehouse.”

“fer fuck’s sake…” Sans mutters, leaning back to put some space between you. “yeah, i seen ‘er. what about it?”

“I Need To Know Where She Is. We Are Going To Be Late For Our Appointment With-” the door swings open, and Papyrus stops mid-sentence.

You turn away and cover your mouth to keep from laughing. You should probably be embarrassed, but this whole situation is nothing but hilarious to you. It’s like something out of a shitty sitcom.

“…Ah.” You can see the taller skeleton fighting a smile.

“what?” Sans asks, bristling. He’s correctly assumed that the two of you are laughing at him, unaware of the state his face is in.

“Nothing, Brother. Though, I Suggest You Check A Mirror At Your Earliest Convenience. Human,” he addresses you, “I’ll Give You Fifteen Minutes To…Clean Up.”

You push off the bed. “I’ll only need ten.”

Papyrus nods, and closes the door, and you laugh as you pick your clothes up off the floor.

“the fuck’s he talkin’ about?”

You smile, walking back over to press a small kiss to a part of his forehead not already occupied by lipstick. “Go wash your face, dumbass.”

He grumbles, but leaves the room to do so, anyway. On his way out, you notice more lipstick on his shoulder blades, and some smeared on the vertebrae of his neck, too. Damn. You really went all-out.

Moments later, you hear him yell from down the hall.

“hey, what the fuck!?”

Laughing your ass off puts you behind schedule, but you still make it to the front door before Papyrus starts yelling. A fresh-faced Sans calls to you from the top of the stairs as you head out the door.

“we’ll pick up where we left off when ya get back, yeah?”

“Sure thing,  _ babe _ ,” you call back, blowing him a kiss.

You catch Papyrus rolling his eye-lights as he closes the door behind you.

—

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that Papyrus isn’t at all mad about your  _ tryst _ with his brother - if you can even call it that.

He explains that his interest in you is purely professional, and that while he had a decent time on your date, he has not developed any romantic feelings for you.

“So Long As That Remains The Case, And So Long As My Brother Doesn’t Try Any ‘Funny Business’ With Your Soul, I See No Problem With Your Relationship.” You’re not sure what he means, but - as usual - you don’t get a chance to ask for clarification. “I Do, However, Believe That You Could Do Better. Your Standards Are Far Too Low.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My Brother Is A Complete Disaster Of A Monster. I’m Sure You’ve Noticed.”

You shrug. “I’ll take a disaster that treats me with care and respect over a well-put-together asshole.”

“Suit Yourself.”

—

“The Human Will Remain Outside The Observation Room For This Test.”

Alphys is as shocked as you are at Papyrus’s demand.

“W-why? You r-realize you’ll have to r-rely on your own m-magic, instead of the m-machine?”

“I Am Well Aware. I Believe It Would Help If I Am Able To See Her During The Test.” He explains.

“I d-don’t really see how that c-could help…” Papyrus doesn’t bother repeating himself. He just fixes the Royal Scientist with a harsh glare, and she shrivels under it. “B-but anything’s worth a shot!”

You stand across from each other in the lab, and he extracts your Soul from you the old-fashioned way - with magic. The two of you hold eye contact as he pulls the radiant green heart from your chest, and he gives you an encouraging nod.

You’re not sure if it’s the time you’ve spent getting to know Papyrus better, or that you’re no longer in that awful observation room, but this time it  _ works. _ For the first time, your Soul isn’t trying desperately to escape. It’s still shaky, and jolts occasionally, but it’s not panicked. Papyrus can finally hold it in his hand without trapping it.

You can feel triumph rolling off of him in waves, and it has nothing to do with his proximity to your Soul - his excitement at succeeding is that contagious.

Finally, you’re making some progress. With the two of you finally on the same page, you can move on to the next phase - figuring out how much Determination he can take, and if that will be enough to get through the barrier. 

You can almost feel the magic at your fingertips…it won’t be much longer until you can wield it for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recently started using some new editing software to help with the writing process, so I don't have to worry so much about missing mistakes. Let me know if you guys can see a difference! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading! <3


	10. Maybe Waterfall Isn't The Best Place For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No smut, just implied sexy-times. Also Undyne is there for a bit.

Papyrus heads directly to the Capital to inform the King of his progress, leaving you to make the trip back to Snowdin with your least favorite fish lady.

Undyne.

She laughs darkly once Papyrus is out of earshot. “Not  **scared,** are ya?”

You don’t dignify that with an answer - mostly because it would either be ‘yes’ or a bald-faced lie.

“Don’t worry, Paps and Alphys read me the riot act.” She puts her webbed hands up as if in surrender. “Hands off.  **Promise.** ”

You know it’s not a promise she made to you, but it makes you feel better. Still, you’re not about to make conversation with her. As you walk, she follows a few feet behind you.

“I like what ya did with your hair. It suits ya.”

You glance at her over your shoulder, and she shoots you a snaggletooth smile. Is she…trying to be nice to you?

You don’t smile back.

“Looks like ya lost weight, too. Humans do that on purpose, don’t they? Good for you, I guess.”

“ _ Excuse me?”  _ You stop short. You’d noticed how thin you were getting, too, but you didn’t think it was noticeable.

“I don’t mean no offense, it’s just that the last time I roughed ya up, I couldn’t count all your ribs.” She closes the gap between you, squatting down and lifting the edge of your shirt. “Let’s see…two, four, six-”

You rip the fabric from her hands and step back, folding your arms over your middle just so she’ll stop.

You’re not starving, and you’d always been told that you could stand to lose a few pounds. You’re fine, right?

“Aw, don’t be shy. I’m sure Paps is  **thrilled** .”

Papyrus? Why the hell would he care? Did she think you two were romantically involved…?

She puts both hands behind her head, a casual gesture that also shows off her many, many muscles. You mentally kick yourself for noticing them. “But, uh, ya might wanna remind him to feed ya every now and again.”

Oh, so she thought it was like  _ that. _ “I’m not his pet.” You turn on your heel and start walking again, faster now.

“That’s not what I was implyin’.”

She has no trouble keeping up with you. Curse her and her long legs. Fish aren’t even supposed to  _ have _ legs! Who does she think she is?

“Royal Guards get access to stuff normal folks don’t. Like better weapons, better housing…and better food, too. Y’know, the good stuff.  **Human** food.”

You’re not sure you want any, since you know they probably pick it out of the dump just like everything else they get from the surface.

“I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“You say that, but…” She hesitates, like she’s not sure she should be talking about this with you. “Monster food’ll keep ya healthy, keep ya going, but it doesn’t have everything you need. Alphys said something about…I dunno…nutreats? Vitamites? I was only half listening.” She pauses, then urgently adds, “don’t uh…don’t tell her that, though.”

You’re floored. The food you’ve been eating since falling down here doesn’t have  _ nutrients _ ? You guess it makes sense, since it’s made entirely out of magic, but  _ fuck, _ that sure explains a lot. No wonder you’re passing out every few days.

You’re livid. You’ve had a feeling that Alphys had been keeping shit from you, but you didn’t expect it to be vital info like this. “When did she mention that?”

“Uh…a few weeks ago, I guess. Why?”

“Just would’ve been nice to know, since I’m wasting away and all,” you mutter bitterly.

“What?”

“Forget it. Papyrus has real food?”

“Yeah. Mostly pasta. Nothing **but** pasta, to be honest.”

You’ll take it. You’d already been used to the feeling of an empty stomach before you fell, so you hadn’t been too bothered by how monster food worked - disappearing the moment you swallowed it, like cotton candy in water. Still, eating something that wouldn’t vanish on you sounds pretty good right now.

You reach the last waterfall before Sans’s sentry station, and Undyne stops at its edge. She waves at you as she turns around, “see ya, shrimp!”

“I sure fucking hope not,” you say under your breath, your words lost in the sound of running water.

Sans’s station is empty, which means he’s either at the Snowdin one or taking a break. You’re alone, save for an echo flower huddled in a corner.

Once, not too long ago, you’d made the mistake of listening to what it had to say. You’d overheard the last few moments of some poor monster’s life - desperate, frantic pleading, a guttural noise, and silence.

You don’t stop to listen to the echo flowers anymore.

You hop up onto the counter of the sentry station and take out your cell phone. You try to text Sans to see where he’s at, but this spot in waterfall has notoriously terrible reception, and your message doesn’t send.

You roll your eyes, returning your phone to your pocket, and start humming a tune. The acoustics in Waterfall are something else, and even your quiet voice carries through the damp air. You get really into it, going from humming to full-on singing, and closing your eyes. You hope that some echo flowers pick up your song. It would be a pleasant change of pace.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of red magic, and the air around you changes. Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted by a familiar sharp-toothed smile.

You breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment, you thought you were in for a FIGHT.

Shadows obscure Sans’s face, but you can see his bright red eye-lights drifting up and down in their sockets as he looks you over. You’re not sure if he’s checking you out or checking you for injury…not that it matters.

“Trying to give me a heart attack, bones?” You complain, your voice a little shaky.

He closes the distance between you, and you notice that his grin is…different.

_ Hungry. _

“i’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day…” His voice - pitched low - sends a shiver down your spine. He takes his hands out of his pockets, resting one on your knee.

You can’t find the words to respond, so you choose action instead. You reach out and grab him by his jacket, opening your legs so you can pull him closer and press a kiss to his teeth.

It was strange, at first, kissing someone with no lips. Last night, drunk off your ass, you’d decided that quantity would make up for how one-sided it felt.

This time, however, Sans doesn’t intend to make you do all the work. He puts one hand on your hip and threads the fingers of his other hand through your hair. He gently pulls your head to the side and nuzzles against your neck. When he opens his mouth and grazes his razor-sharp teeth against the sensitive skin of your throat, you can’t help but let out a desperate whine.

Sans chuckles, pulling away so he can look you in the eyes. He moves his hand from your hair and takes your chin in his bony palm, resting a clawed thumb on your lower lip.

“lemme show ya a good time, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around him. “ _ Please. _ ”

He pulls you tight to him, and the two of you vanish. 

\--

Sans wakes up a few hours after. 

At least, he assumes it’s been a few hours. It’s pretty much always pitch-black outside, so there’s no way of knowing without checking his phone, which is all the way over on the nightstand. He could reach it pretty easily, actually, but he’s using that arm to hold you snug to his side. 

And he really means snug. You’ve wrapped both of your legs around one of his, your head is resting on his humerus (which can’t be comfortable), and the hand not trapped under you is lightly gripping his collarbone. He’s glad he had the forethought to put his t-shirt and shorts back on. At least that way, he’s not as likely to jab you. 

The way you’re holding onto him makes it so much harder when he has to move. It won’t take long to check, and he has to. For his own peace of mind, he needs to check. 

He sits up slowly, supporting your weight as he brings you up with him. Your eyes flutter open for a moment, and you murmur something, but you don’t wake up. When he’s sure you’re still fully asleep, he pulls your SOUL from your chest and gives it a once-over. 

He breathes a sigh of relief. He really thought he’d messed it up and done the one thing Papyrus had told him not to do. Thankfully, there’s not a single trace of his deep-red magic on your SOUL. 

Of course, now that there’s a light source, he can’t keep his eye-lights from wandering. You’re just...so pretty, and so soft, and so vulnerable and…

Fuck. 

He can already see bruises taking shape on your hips - purple silhouettes of his own hands - and he lets out a frustrated sigh. He tried so hard to hold back, but you’re just...so fragile. He knows it’s nothing severe, and that you won’t be mad, but he’s still sick over it. 

He lets your SOUL glide back into you. Without letting you go, he leans over and picks his jacket up off the floor beside your bed. He drapes it over your shoulders and gently tugs your arms through the sleeves. He zippers it all the way up...then he drags the zipper back down about halfway. He doesn’t want to see the bruises, but he definitely wants to see the rest of you. 

He settles the two of you back down onto the mattress, lying on his side and pulling you against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to make you all aware that my face was bright red while writing this, and it's not even that steamy. If I ever tried writing smut, I'd combust.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
